Folie a Une A Madness Not Shared
by Fallon Ash
Summary: A man runs out of gas in the middle of nowhere and meets some odd people... think Alternate Universe... Major Alternate Universe... oh, and did I mention major weirdeness...? Updated: Alex included, oh kind person who pointed it out...


Author: Fallon Ash  
  
Title: Folie a Une - A Madness Not Shared  
  
Rating: PG-13. don't ask me why. felt right.  
  
Disclaimer: Anyone from the The X-Files does not belong to me. They belong to CC, FOX, 1013, and probably others as well. Not to me. Never to me. Judge Wallace, actually though, is mine. More disclaimers at the end.  
  
Summary: Think Alternate Universe.. Major Alternate Universe. really, really far from anything at all..A man runs out of gas in the middle of nowhere and meets some odd people.  
  
Warning: uhmmm. you'll hardly notice it, but there's a small indication of slashy feelings at one point in here.  
  
Author's Note: And I can't even blame this story on anything. I was perfectly sober, hadn't been drinking excessive amounts of coffee, was not exhausted. maybe there was something in the water. anyways, here goes.:  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
Folie a Une - A Madness Not Shared  
  
  
  
Vast desert stretched in all directions. The sun was meandering across the sky, leaving blistering heat behind, but now preparing itself for its nightly rest as it was slowing its descent towards the western horizon. The red sand glowed in the red light, and the mesas seemed to have a fire within, so intense was the colour of the red rock. The land was dry rocks, and cold stone, and drifting sand. The only life here was cacti, and the occasional rodent that would come out during the dark and cold night hours. The one sign of humans that could be seen was a dry gravel road. The wheel tracks were deep, but bumpy, as if no one had driven there for many, many years. Random skeletons could be found in their depths, and the road came from nowhere, going nowhere. With one exception. The road snaked up the steep slope to a mesa, winding back and forth, and as it reached the plateau, and followed the edge, there was a house. Here was also the only place green life could be seen within several days walk.  
  
The house was dark and doomed and ancient. Its two stories with the attic rose above the land, seemingly to keep watch over it, protecting it from harmful minds that dared come too close. Long shadows covered the growing potatoes on the east side of the house, due to the setting sun, and the wind racing around the corners started to become chilly. One moving spot could be seen from the window facing west on the second floor, far from the house, approaching from the west on the small gravel road, difficult to make out without being blinded by the sun right behind it. It shimmered in silver, and seemed to hover above the ground, as the motor sound grew louder. When the object, which could be identified as a car, neared, the harmonically humming noise changed, and stuttered. Right outside the iron gate blocking the almost submerged into sand pathway leading to the house, the car coughed violently one final time, before stopping with a jerk. For a moment stillness reigned, and the car gleamed silently in the sun like an overheated beetle under the harsh heat of midday. Until it was disrupted by the car door being thrown open. The door was followed by a man in a once impeccable suit, now wrinkled with a dark (coffee?) stain right on the front. The man kicked his car several times in short order, while cursing viciously, in several languages, before disturbing the silence one final time by throwing shut his car door. Only to realize the keys were inside, and the door had locked.  
  
Judge Wallace, Wall Street shark number one, accomplisher of having bankrupted many large rival firms, keeper of a seven million dollar home on Long Island, owner of a successful chain of overly expensive dress suits for men, personal friend of the Mayor, and known to more than half the somebodys on Manhattan, was out of gas, out of any geographical place known to man, out of cell phone charge, locked out of his car, out of spare key, and was probably going out of his mind as well. He was, however, in possession of the vision of one abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. He had one thought on his mind. Or rather, one thought that simultaneously encompassed the boy who'd filled his tank at the last gas station, the guy who put up the road sign saying 'GAS' that he had passed a long, long time ago, the head of the company where he bought his cell phone, and the car manufacturer who created the lock to his door, and probably Columbus as well, for discovering this damn continent in the first place. The thought was very simply a dark thought concerning all these people, and what their ancestors liked to do with dead fish on their spare time, in private.  
  
Judge Wallace stood silently, contemplating his options. He looked west, and saw the road turning into a thin silver thread, shrivelling into ashes before disappearing into the setting sun. He looked east and saw it blur and dissolve, floating up and away, before disappearing into the bluish haze of twilight. He looked north, and saw nothing, miles of nothing, just space. You could fall in and never come out. He did, however, feel a chilly wind bite his cheeks. Sighing, he turned south and walked towards the building.  
  
The door was unlocked, and the house warm, as he entered. The front hall was very dark, though, and he started as the silhouette of a woman suddenly appeared, standing in the doorway to what seemed to be the kitchen.  
  
"Who are you?" the soft voice that greeted him was not frightened, nor irritated, but carried with it the sharp edge of intelligence.  
  
"I'm Judge Wallace. I come from New York."  
  
Monica looked him up and down a few times.  
  
"Salesman?"  
  
"Stock broker."  
  
"Same thing" her upper lip curled a little, could have been a smile, could have been scorn. She continued "So, that was your car that ran out of gas outside." A statement. "You alone?"  
  
"I am, yes. Who are you, I thought this place was abandoned."  
  
"I am nothing, but you can call me Monica. When I was something, they used to call me that."  
  
"Monica."  
  
The woman turned, and he followed her into the kitchen. In here there was a little lighter, and he could make out her features easier in here. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin. Kind of pretty, really.  
  
The kitchen itself was warm, and cosy. The shelves were a warm brown wood, matching the sparse furniture. Pottery was placed around the room in various places, all of them with several cracks in them, adding to the run- down, well-used feeling. The floor was wooden, and generations of feet had worn them down, made the soft and smooth. Under the window facing the back yard an open fire was lit, food cooking in a metal container hanging above it. Tucked into the far corner was a roughly made door, and from the looks of it Judge Wallace could only assume it was the cellar door.  
  
"Do you have food with you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then you are welcome to share ours. It is not much, but it is what you can find out here."  
  
"There is someone else here with you?"  
  
"Yes. My mother. She lives upstairs." As if on command, a scraping noise could be heard from behind the cellar door.  
  
"Come on," Monica's voice was hurried. "Grab that stack of plates and let's go upstairs and eat."  
  
Judge Wallace, always keeping his composure in all situations, simply grabbed the stack and followed her.  
  
"What was that noise?"  
  
No answer.  
  
"What was the noise from the cellar door?"  
  
No answer.  
  
"Right. So you don't talk about that."  
  
Light shrug.  
  
"Ok, ok. I can take a hint." Judge Wallace had not become who he was through pushing his luck when he realized he shouldn't, or by asking question that he already knew he wouldn't get an answer to. Instead, he followed her up the stairs and into a smaller, darker room on the second floor. A musky smell, like that of old clothes left in the closet for too many years, hit him almost like a physical force as he crossed the threshold. He looked around, to see the windows nailed shut with wooden sticks; the only source of light was a burning oil lamp in a corner. The room was clad in drapes, ingrained with dust looking older than the house itself. In the middle sat a woman, a blonde woman, with long, silky, wavy hair, a blonde woman dressed in a flowery dress remaining from some time long ago when people wore long flowery dresses, a blonde woman in a flowery dress who was staring up at Judge Wallace with very open intense blue eyes, surrounded by terribly long dark lashes, and with a wide smile that showed off a long row of perfect white pearly teeth.  
  
"Oh, Monica, I'm so glad! You're finally bringing Walter home so I can meet him." She turned to Judge Wallace. "Hello, Walter. I am Monica's mother, Marita. I'm so pleased to finally meet you"  
  
Judge Wallace took Marita's hand, and shook her limp grip lightly for a moment, before saying, in a reasonable voice that always made roomfuls of board members and stock holders lean back and exhale, knowing their money was in a safe place. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you seem to be mistaken. My name is Judge Wallace, I do not know who Walter is." He looked to Monica for support. Again, she just shrugged her shoulders at him.  
  
"Mother." Marita slowly turned her large blue scrutinizing eyes from Judge Wallace, and fixed them on her daughter. "Mother. This is not Walter. This is Judge Wallace. He ran out of gas outside the door."  
  
"No friggin' way. Well, I should've guessed. Cult leaders are sexy, salesmen are uncles." Blue eyes came back to rest on Judge Wallace again, before Marita dismissed his presence with a toss of her head that caused her blonde curls to tumble in a small cloud around her head, just to settle down perfectly again, now obscuring her eyes from him.  
  
The food was good. The soup contained potatoes, meat, carrots, spices, and a bunch of other vegetables Judge Wallace could not identify. But it was good.  
  
"Monica?" She turned towards him. In the semi-light up here, he could see her features more clearly. She was a prefect reflection of her mother, but where her mother was blonde and blue-eyed, Monica was dark, and brown-eyed. Where her mother's eyes were windows into her soul, the glass having fallen out long ago, seemingly opening up to only hollowness inside her head, Monica's eyes were vault doors, shielding her inside from the world. Or maybe they were shielding the world from her. Judge Wallace couldn't possibly know.  
  
"Don't you have salad?"  
  
She blinked a few times.  
  
"Oh. We eat out salad after the main course. European style."  
  
The ate in silence for a while before Judge Wallace spoke again.  
  
"Cult leader? Walter?"  
  
Another silence followed.  
  
Then:  
  
"Walter lives in the cellar. You'll meet him later."  
  
"Oh." Judge Wallace could live with that answer. Never question anything prematurely, when you know you'll get an answer eventually, and you don't lose anything by waiting for it. Wastes your time and annoys the interrogated.  
  
They ate in silence. When they had finished the stew, Marita suddenly managed to produce a bowl filled with tossed green salad. Judge Wallace didn't ask, but simply helped himself to some of it and settled back on the floor. He looked towards to covered window. The sun had probably set long ago, but the passing of time was not noticed in a room such as this one.  
  
As Monica finished, she rose, and took Judge Wallace's plate from his hands.  
  
"Let us go downstairs. I need to wash these up, and then you'll meet Walter."  
  
Judge Wallace followed her without a word.  
  
Down in the kitchen, Monica washed the dishes in another metal container; similar to the one she cooked in. Square, roughly cut containers, made from aluminium. Looking up at him, she let her gaze scrutinize him, much like her mother had done before. But where her mother had not seen him, and merely done it because she knew it might affect people if she did so, Judge Wallace had the uncomfortable feeling that Monica knew just about everything about him by the time she finished.  
  
"You're ok. You can meet Walter."  
  
She turned towards the cellar door, and opened it. The cellar door was made out of dark oak wood, and turned outwards on silent, silent hinges. As far as a cellar doors went, it seemed much too well done, and cared for. Monica headed down the stairs.  
  
Judge Wallace paused for a fraction of a second in the doorway, holding open the heavy cellar door, questioning his motives, before following Monica down. The cellar door closed with a heavy thud behind him, and darkness settled over them. The walked downward, and downward, the stairs winding back and forth. When they finally reached the base of the stairwell there was a long hallway, lit randomly by flickering candles. It stretched forward a good thirty yards until it turned a corner. The walls were not decorated, nor were there any doors. It could go on forever. They turned corner after corner, some sharp, some only slight bends, walking in silence, their steps echoing off the stark stone walls enclosing them underneath the very body of the house.  
  
At the very end of the hallway was a door. Monica rapped in three times in quick succession, followed by a strange rhythm of sounds she drummed with her fingernails. Then she counted.  
  
"Four. three. two. one." and the door swung open. In it's place stood and very tall, very dark, very made up man in very, very gothic clothes.  
  
"Hello, Monica"  
  
"Hello John, this is Judge Wallace."  
  
"Hello Judge," the very tall man apparently named John answered, reaching out with a beefy fist to clasp Judge Wallace's smaller one for a few short moments. Despite his size, the handshake was almost timid in its nature. "Come on in."  
  
Monica and Judge Wallace followed John into the room. It was a well-sized room, and appeared to have been a former storage area. It was furnished with colourful couches and pillows and mattresses, all scattered around the room. The walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookcases, all filled with books and magazines and folders of all kinds. There were three more people in the room, two men and a woman, all dressed in gothic clothing, with heavy make up in their faces. One of the men was lying on the floor, a leash around his neck, which the small, red-haired woman was holding onto.  
  
"May the spirits be with you, and absolve you from the evils of government, hail thee newcomer." Monica, John, and the other three Goths said with one mouth.  
  
"Hello, nice to meet you," Judge Wallace answered. Two of the other Goths rose and crossed the room, the woman dragging her leashed companion behind her to where Monica and Judge Wallace stood. The woman reached them first, and embraced Monica quickly, whispering something into her ear, before turning to Judge Wallace.  
  
"Very nice to meet a friend of Monica's. I am Dana. This is my little friendly fox," she gestured to the man at her feet. Judge Wallace shook her hand, but was too absorbed with the bright red hair on her head to really notice. As he didn't let go, she smirked slightly, and removed his hand from her own, placing it into the next palm, belonging to the man next to her.  
  
"Hi." Judge Wallace was brutally pulled from his admiring by a steely voice next to him. "My name is Walter, and this is my cult. Nice to meet you." Judge Wallace shook his hand as well, but was disappointed as he finally tore his eyes away from Dana's red hair to find Walter's head gleaming bald in the light from the candles placed on the shelves that went around the room. But this Goth's combination of glasses and his bald head together with the make up and the clothes was comic, so Judge Wallace figured he could live without the red hair. Fortunately, Walter had nice grey eyes, and a charming smile. Judge Wallace didn't let go of Walter's hand either, and this time, it wasn't removed. They sat down next to each other on the plush mattress in the corner.  
  
What Judge Wallace hadn't counted on, was the pain in kind Monica's eyes as they did this. In her eyes, he could see longing, heartache, love, disappointment and betrayal. All at once. It was apparent she loved Walter. But, for reasons he had no idea where they came from, or why they were there, so did Judge Wallace, and he met Monica's eyes, daringly, the challenge readable to anyone. Dana, observant as she seemed to be, noticed this, and took Monica by the hand, pulling her from the room. As she passed the doorway, she handed the leash to John.  
  
"So, Walter. "Judge Wallace began, turning to his companion. "What's up with the darkness and the fires around this place."  
  
"Well, you see." Walter began, his nimble fingers tracing patters along the fine web of lines in Judge Wallace's palm. "The government uses electricity to control and monitor the people in this country. As we do not wish to be a part of that, we have no electricity for twenty-five miles in any direction. We refuse to be a part of the Senate's little flock of sheep."  
  
Judge Wallace wasn't completely following, distracted as he was by the light touch in his palm, but he asked the next question anyway. "So, what's up with Monica and Marita. Why are they here?"  
  
"They were erased by the government, many, many years ago. Technically, they don't exist. So we took them in." The caress was slowly creeping up the inside of Judge Wallace's arm. But the next question was important.  
  
"Do you have a phone here?"  
  
"Of course I don't have a phone, phones can make you do things you do not wish to do.  
  
"They can?"  
  
"Oh yes, just look at this!" Walter reached into a small hole in the wall and withdrew a many times unfolded and refolded newspaper clipping. It was The Time's front page, several months old. The headline boldly proclaimed in red text: Boston Doctor leaves patient on operating table; forced to remove appendix by himself!  
  
"We checked it out," Walter continued. "It appears the good doctor had received a phone call in the middle of surgery before disappearing into the night, seemingly due to a sudden urge to settle his monetary debts. He never returned. When we tried to trace the call the account was cancelled, but we were able to locate it to a building that housed government offices."  
  
"Uhmm." Judge Wallace was at a loss. "Not to, uhm."  
  
Walter continued:  
  
"And the government can electrocute you simply by calling you. We've seen it happen."  
  
"Ok." Judge Wallace cut in. He was getting the picture. "You don't have a phone. You don't happen to have gasoline, then? I really need to be back on Wall Street by tomorrow afternoon."  
  
"Gasoline, my friend, is something that I do have."  
  
"May I have that? I'm here because I ran out of gas."  
  
"You may. Come with me." Walter rose, and walked out the door at a brisk pace. Judge Wallace had to take small running steps in order to follow. As they went through the hallway again, he looked around for any sign of Monica or Dana, but they had vanished. John and the leashed man were left on some pillows next to the door, quietly humming 'Kum ba yah, my Lord, Kum ba yah' to themselves.  
  
Judge Wallace and Walter went into a small storage closet, where Walter lifted out a huge tank of gasoline.  
  
"This what you need?" He turned towards Judge Wallace.  
  
"Yes, that's absolutely great!" Judge Wallace started feeling enthusiastic for the first time that evening.  
  
Together the two men walked out the front door, and towards Judge Wallace's silver sedan that stood as he had left it. Only now, the key was in the lock, on the outside of the car. Judge Wallace stopped in his tracks.  
  
"But. but." He wasn't used to being flustered. And he wasn't used to cars unlocking themselves either. Turning towards Walter, he commented.  
  
"I'm certain I locked my car keys in the car when I left it earlier."  
  
Walter just smiled at him.  
  
"That would probably be Monica's doing. She has these. abilities. And she would do this for you. She is a very kind woman."  
  
Together, the two men filled up the tank with gas. As they were working, a man appeared. Judge Wallace had no idea where he had come from, but he seemed to have stepped right out of thin air.  
  
"Alex" Walter gave a stiff nod.  
  
"Well, what do you know. Ya got a friend there, Walt?"  
  
"That is really none of your concern, Alex. Have you done your. thing?"  
  
"My thing. isn't that a cute way of putting it. Sure, I killed the chap. Why do you care? It's New Mexico. I mean, I probably saved him from an alien abduction."  
  
The man named Alex smiled brightly at Judge Wallace, and reached out to clap Walter on the shoulder. Walter stiffened visibly at the contact, and Alex's green eyes twinkled at the sight.  
  
"Well, I'll be going then." And Alex followed the short path and disappeared into the building, leaving Walter and Judge Wallace to look after him. Judge Wallace turned to his new friend.  
  
"I would like for you to come with me to the city. I'll help you get used to the electricity. It doesn't control you."  
  
Walter looked at him, long and hard, before finally simply replying:  
  
"I'm sorry. I would love that, but I can't leave this place. Now, you should go, or you won't make it to the city by the afternoon." And Walter turned and walked into the house. Judge Wallace stood and stared at the closed door long after it had closed behind Walter. Once, he thought he saw a glimpse of bright red hair in a window, but chalked it up to his imagination.  
  
Finally, as the sun started to rise in the east, he sat down inside his car, and started the engine. He drove with his eyes blinded by the rising sun, drove without looking back, drove until he reached the intersection with I280.  
  
"Funny" he thought. "I could have sworn this is where I turned last night. I remember that sign saying 'GAS'." The sign was indeed hanging there, a battered old sign, hanging only from one end. Turning around in his seat he looked back for the first time. Behind him was a small, closed down gas station. The parking lot had one exit, where he was now, and one entrance. The entrance was fifty yards further down along the Interstate, with a similar battered 'GAS'-sign hanging from a pole. Behind the closed gas station was a great lake. Judge Wallace shook his head, and accelerated his car out onto the Interstate, where it mingled together with all the other cars, them together becoming only a blur of quicksilver headed towards the silhouette of Manhattan that could be seen gleaming below the glowing red ball that was the rising sun.  
  
  
  
The End  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
  
  
Relevant stolen, reworked or alluded to quotes that are not mine, and other disclaimers:  
  
  
  
"Folie a deux, a madness shared by two" Agent Scully, from the TV-show "The X- Files"  
  
  
  
"Gabrielle awoke with a jerk." Gabrielle, from the TV-show "Xena - Warrior Princess"  
  
  
  
"Ghis muttered a curse that suggested something nasty about the recipient's ancestors and what he liked to do with dead fish on his spare time, in private." Penumbra. Quote used WITH permission (thanx!)  
  
  
  
"You see nothing, miles of nothing, just space. You could fall in and never come out." Trish, from the film "SLC Punk"  
  
  
  
"No friggin' way!" Agent Reyes, from the TV-show "The X-Files"  
  
  
  
"Piano players are sexy. Salesmen are uncles." Tracy Stover, from the film "Beautiful Girls"  
  
  
  
"Oh, we eat our salad after the main course. European style." Paulie, from the film "The Last Supper"  
  
  
  
"Never try to teach a pig to sing, it wastes your time and annoys the pig." Mark Twain  
  
  
  
Over-use of the word 'cellar door': I found this on the net, and acted accordingly: "I called it cellar door, after the claim that those two words together were the most beautiful sounds of the English language." Erynn  
  
  
  
Not in any way is my intention to ridicule the seriousness of the recent happenings concerning the Boston doctor leaving his patient on the operating table. What's in here was the result of a joke gone bad, but I felt a need to include it.  
  
  
  
"People disappear all the time." "Especially in Iowa, I mean, we probably saved him from an alien abduction" Luke and Jude, from the film "The Last Supper.  
  
  
  
So New Mexico, New York City and the Great Lakes aren't exactly next to each other: Poetic licence!! Sue me!!  
  
  
  
Most of the quotes used without permission. 


End file.
